


Not a One-Man Job

by LearnedFoot



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, IN SPACE!, M/M, Rescue Missions, Resurrected Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: “Let me get this straight. You listened to my concerns, you listened to us tell you Tony wouldn’t want you to putting yourself in danger for him”—Peter winces, because, yeah, they’re right, Mr. Stark would be so mad—“youpromisedyou understood, and you came anyway?”Peter swallows and forces himself to look up. “I’m sorry about lying, Colonel Rhodes, but it’sMr. Stark. I couldn’t just wait around at home.”Or: Peter, Rhodey, and Nebula are on a mission to rescue Tony. Cue bonding.
Relationships: Nebula & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 27
Kudos: 219
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Not a One-Man Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [textbookchoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookchoices/gifts).



> Thank you much for supporting a great cause <3
> 
> Thank you to tuesday for being a wonderful beta!

“You have got to be kidding.”

Peter blinks up at the stern face of Colonel Rhodes and, for the first time since he slipped onto this ship, thinks he may have made a mistake.

“Um, hi.”

Colonel Rhodes flares his nostrils, letting out a sound that could have been a laugh if it weren’t also angry.

“Hi? That’s what you’re going with? Unbelievable.” He steps back, wrenching open the storage closet Peter has been sitting in for the past twelve hours. “Well? Are you planning to hide in here for the entire trip?”

Peter scrambles to his feet, emerging into the cold, grey interior of Nebula’s spaceship. The entire hall is exposed metal, as if not a single thought was put into the aesthetics by whoever built it, which it probably hadn’t been.

“Hi,” he says again. “Surprise?”

Colonel Rhodes pushes his lips into a thin line and nods, as if _surprise?_ is exactly what he expected to hear.

“I seem to remember talking about this. I _seem_ to remember we told you it was too dangerous.”

Peter tries very hard not to wilt. He barely knows the guy; he’s not going to feel bad about disappointing him just because he’s Mr. Stark’s best friend and an American hero and freaking War Machine. Peter’s too old for that.

But he can’t quite meet Colonel Rhodes’s eyes as he nods. “Yeah.”

“I also seem to remember you agreed to stay home.”

Peter nods again, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. He did promise that, and he’d known it was a lie the whole time. Mr. Stark is _alive again_ —and in trouble. There's no way Peter would miss this rescue mission. It seemed perfectly obvious at the time, but now he feels a bit like a disobedient kid.

“Let me get this straight. You listened to my concerns, you listened to us tell you Tony wouldn’t want you to putting yourself in danger for him”—Peter winces, because, yeah, they’re right, Mr. Stark would be so mad—“you _promised_ you understood, and you came anyway?”

Peter swallows and forces himself to look up. “I’m sorry about lying, Colonel Rhodes, but it’s _Mr. Stark_. I couldn’t just wait around at home.”

“Jesus.” Colonel Rhodes rubs his face, massaging his temples as if he has a headache. “No wonder he always liked you. That’s not a compliment.”

But the corners of his mouth twitch as if maybe he’s hiding a smile. Peter stares back hopefully.

After a few beats, Colonel Rhodes finally relents, shoulders slumping in defeat. He turns and strides down the hall, gesturing for Peter to follow. “Come on, then. And call me Rhodey. You’re making me feel about ninety-five years old with that wide-eyed respectful kid act.”

“Okay, Colo—Rhodey,” Peter says as he jogs to keep up. “But it’s not an act!”

“Oh, it’s an act. If it were real, you would have _respected_ me by staying on Earth.”

Peter has no comeback for that, so he shuts his mouth and follows in silence.

\---

Rhodey drops him in an empty bunk. It’s small, barely big enough for a single bed and a tiny row of shelves, but Peter knows better than to complain.

“You, stay here,” Rhodey instructs. “I’ll break the news to Nebula. I’m not responsible for what she does to you. She’s scary.”

Peter can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a threat, a joke, or simply a true observation.

“Okay, sounds good,” he agrees, hesitantly. 

Rhodey gives him another once over, then wanders off, shaking his head. Peter can hear him muttering to himself as he goes, catching phrases like “Unbelievable” and “exactly like him” floating back down the hall.

There’s nothing to do in the room, but Peter has his phone with him. No service in space, obviously, but he downloaded _T_ _he Brothers Karamazov_ before stowing away. He’s already missing today’s Russian Lit seminar, and he’s probably not going to be back in time for classes next week, either. The least he can do is not get totally behind on his reading.

He stops for a second to appreciate how ridiculous his life is. He’s on a spaceship, flown by an alien, heading to a hostile planet to rescue his resurrected mentor-slash-lifelong-crush, and he’s worried about homework. Mr. Stark would find that funny. Mr. Stark _will_ find that funny.

He’s going to get to tell Mr. Stark, because Mr. Stark is alive. And Mr. Stark will laugh about it, or tell him he’s doing a good job, or call him a nerd, or—anything. It doesn’t matter. What matters is he’ll be there to respond.

Peter grins and buries his face in his hands, suddenly giddy. This is insane. _Insane_.

He stays like that, trying to process emotions too big to contain, until a tingle up his spine alerts him to company. He glances up and finds himself looking into the black pits of Nebula’s eyes. She leans against his doorframe, observing. At least she looks less annoyed than Rhodey was, though she’s kind of hard to read.

“We cannot turn back,” she says without preamble. “The longer we delay, the more danger he is in.”

“I know.” Nebula made it very clear that, based on the rumors she'd heard, the far flung followers of Thanos who figured out how to resurrect Mr. Stark had done so with the express purpose of taking their revenge. She only bothered to stop by Earth to pick up help because she had been only a few hours away when she got the information; the slap-dash preparations for the rescue mission are what allowed Peter to sneak on board in the first place.

“We will have to battle.”

Peter sits straighter, attempting to make himself appear more like an Avenger than a besotted teenager. “I know that, too. I came because I want to help.”

Nebula’s inky eyes pierce through him. She nods. “I have seen you fight. You will be an asset. I am glad you are here.”

“Oh.” That was easier than he thought it was going to be. “Wait, when did you see me fight?”

He’s only met Nebula once, at Mr. Stark’s funeral. He’s heard a lot about her—mostly from Morgan—and he knows she stops by Earth a few times a year to check in with the friends she made during the Blip, but they’ve never seen each other during her brief stays, let alone been on a mission together. Well, other than the big battle, but Peter’s pretty sure no one was paying much attention to anyone else’s fighting style in the middle of that nightmare.

“Stark showed me videos. You are strong and fast.”

The back of Peter’s neck suddenly feels very warm.

“Um, thanks,” he mumbles, because it’s polite to respond to compliments. But honestly, the compliment isn’t the part of what she said that he’s interested in. “Mr. Stark showed you videos of me fighting?”

“ _Many_ videos. He spoke of you often.”

“Oh. Wow.” Okay, this is really not helping him seem less like a kid with a crush. He clears his throat, trying to tamp down the absurd burst of pride swelling in his chest. “Morgan talks about you all the time, too. You’re her favorite aunt.”

Nebula’s mouth does something that’s maybe supposed to be a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stand in silence, though it’s not entirely uncomfortable. Peter has a feeling Nebula isn’t the chattiest person. According to Morgan, she gets more animated playing games.

Actually, that’s not a bad idea.

“Do you have any cards?” he asks.

Nebula tilts her head inquisitively. Peter places his phone on the bed and stands.

“I don’t really have anything to do here, and I really like playing games?”

This time, there’s no question: she definitely smiles as she agrees.

\---

It turns out Nebula not only has several packs of cards, but she picked up a lot of games on Earth. And is really good at them.

“Gin,” she says triumphantly, spreading her hand to prove it.

Peter groans. That makes the second game in a row she’s won. “Are you sure you’re not cheating?”

Nebula’s face goes dark.

“I would never cheat,” she growls. “That is not honorable.”

“Sorry, sorry! It was a joke!”

“Never joke with Nebula about cheating. It’s disrespectful.”

Peter turns to discover Rhodey has entered the mess area where they’ve been playing. Peter was so absorbed in the game he didn’t even notice. He jumps to his feet.

“Colonel, er, Rhodey, sir. Hi!” 

Rhodey stares at him, eyebrow slowly raising. Oh, probably because jumping to his feet is actually a really weird way for Peter to react to someone walking into the room. Yeah, makes sense.

Sheepishly, he sinks back into his chair. “Sorry.”

Rhodey and Nebula exchange a glance Peter can’t entirely parse, but he’s pretty sure it contains a hidden laugh at his expense. He does his best not to look insulted.

“Relax,” Rhodey finally says, slapping him on the back before sitting in a free chair, scooping up the cards as he goes. “Mind if I join you?”

“Really?” Peter asks. “I mean, totally, yes, that would be awesome. I didn’t think you’d want to or I would’ve found you before.”

Rhodey gives him a sideways glance as he begins to shuffle, hands moving with the elegant efficiency of someone who knows their way around a pack of cards.

“I see how it is. You think because I’m in the military, I don’t like to have fun?”

“What? No, no, not at all. Obviously not.” Peter blushes. Why can’t he get it right with Rhodey? “I just thought…you seemed so mad at me…”

“Furious,” Rhodey agrees, but his tone is light. He starts to deal the cards. “How do we feel about poker?”

Nebula’s eyes light up. “I will get the candy.”

“I taught her at the same time as Morgan,” Rhodey explains as Nebula disappears down the hall. “M&Ms instead of chips.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s how my uncle Ben taught me.” Peter plucks at the cards in front of him, still feeling awkward. “I’m sorry, I’m confused, are you actually angry with me or not?”

“You’re annoyingly persistent, you know that?”

But he sounds more amused than annoyed. Which, honestly, so confusing.

Peter risks leaning into the vibe. “And you’re annoying cryptic, _you_ know _that_?”

To his relief, Rhodey snorts, rolling his eyes but smiling at the same time.

“You really are like him,” he muses, gaze going distant for a second. “I’m mad, because now I have to worry about you. But if I couldn’t have a good time with someone I’m mad at, Tony wouldn’t be my best friend. So I’m mad, but we’re good. Story of my life.”

And great, now Peter’s blushing again. He can’t help it—Mr. Stark’s best friend comparing them is the biggest compliment Peter can think of, even if he’s kind of calling Peter a pain in the ass in the process.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he offers. “I promise I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the videos. Impressive stuff, don’t get me wrong. But if I let you get hurt rescuing him, Tony will kill me. So here I am, worrying.”

Fortunately, Nebula returns with a large bag of M&Ms before Peter blurts out something stupid like _Did Mr. Stark show you the videos, too?_ or _Do you really think Mr. Stark would care that much if I got hurt?_ Rhodey, not being a cyber-alien thingy, would definitely pick up on the hopeless crush vibes right away, and Peter would very much like to avoid that, for dignity reasons.

“I hope you’re ready for payback,” he says to Nebula instead. “I’m really good at poker.”

\---

An hour later, Peter regrets his words. He’s good, but Rhodey is much, much better.

“Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asks when they finally break for dinner, if you can call the bland, protein-rich shakes Nebula whips up dinner.

Rhodey pops open a beer—they might not have solid food, but apparently someone thought to bring booze—and leans back in his chair with a wistful smile. “MIT. It’s how I met Tony, actually.”

“Wait, really?” Peter scoots closer. Mr. Stark shared a few stories about his MIT days, but he stuck to discussing his classes and building Dum-E. Whenever he got close to reminiscing about his social life he’d clam up and tell Peter it was a story for another day. “I had no idea he played.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Nebula leaning in, too. He’s not the only one who’s interested.

Rhodey’s smile gets broader, more performative. When he starts talking again, it’s with the dramatic flair of a storyteller.

“Oh, yeah, big time. He was great. First time we met, he was this little pipsqueak of a kid. He comes rolling into this party, uninvited, throws a thousand down and says he’s buying in. And we’re sitting there like alright, if this little idiot wants to lose his money, that works for us.”

He pauses, drawing out the tension. Peter had no idea he could be so dynamic. The few times they’ve interacted, Rhodey’s been in mission mode, all military efficiency, no play.

“And? What happened?” Nebula prods. 

“It’s Tony, what do you think happened? He kicked all our asses worse than I beat you two.” Rhodey laughs. “But he didn’t take our money. Left the thousand, too, to ‘thank us for the good time.’ That’s when I decided I wanted to be his friend.”

“Because of his money?” Peter asks, surprised. He doesn’t think of Rhodey as the kind of person who cares about being around wealth.

“Smart,” Nebula comments. “Befriend the powerful.”

Rhodey gives them both a scandalized glare. “No, not because of his money, come on. Because it was so obvious he was trying to buy friends, I figured he could use a real one.”

“Oh. That makes more sense,” Peter concedes. Like, a lot more sense. “That was nice of you.”

“One of the best choices I ever made.” 

Peter floods with affection for this man who cares about Mr. Stark as much as he does. Sometimes, in his most dramatic moments of self-pity and mourning, it’s easy to forget he’s not the only one who loved Mr. Stark. Even if he’s pretty sure it’s in a different way for Rhodey.

“I’m really glad he had you,” he says, letting some of his emotion show. “To look out for him.”

Rhodey’s eyes flick over Peter, sizing him up.

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he sounds quizzical. “So, you wanna hear about the time one of the homeless guys in Harvard square beat him at chess?”

“Um, yes please!” Peter agrees at the same moment Nebula asks, “What is chess?”

\---

After a brief foray into explaining the game, Rhodey reveals that Mr. Stark helped the homeless guy get a job. From there, he moves to more stories of Mr. Stark’s college excesses, both kind and reckless. That somehow transitions to Nebula explaining how Mr. Stark would fly in meals from his favorite restaurants all over the world—the ones that stayed open, anyway—whenever she visited his cabin. Which morphs into reminiscing about how much he loved cheeseburgers. Things take a swing for the serious as Rhodey reflects on finding him in Afghanistan, wasting away and exhausted and wanting nothing more than a hot, juicy burger. 

“I was so afraid he was going to say ‘hot, juicy’ something else,” Rhodey reports with a chuckle. “I should’ve known better. He's always loved a good burger.”

Which is when they both turn to Peter, expectant.

“Wha—what?”

“We showed you ours,” Rhodey says. “You’ve gotta have stories.”

“Oh, right.” But all that jumps to mind are the moments Peter remembers the most, and those aren’t funny stories, but the little things: Mr. Stark leaning over his back to guide his hands fixing a car engine. Mr. Stark covering him with a blanket when he drifted off on the couch during movie nights. Mr. Stark pulling him close on a muddy battlefield, embracing him like Peter’s very existence was the most important thing in the universe…

Yeah. Not very good stories.

“Um,” he says, floundering. Rhodey had started with how they met. That’ll work. “Did he ever tell you how he recruited me to fight in Germany?”

To his surprise, Rhodey sits up, eyes dancing. “ _No_. He was always incredibly evasive about that. Spill.”

So Peter spills. It’s easy, once he gets started, to bring back the memory: the way his heart raced through his chest, senses suspended somewhere between panic and elation at finding his hero in his home, his room, revealing he knew his deepest secret. And then the plane ride, the _suit_ —“I couldn’t believe it! I mean…jeez. I still can’t believe it when I think about it”—how Mr. Stark had driven him home, dropped him off.

“And then he let me _keep it_ ,” Peter concludes. “I could barely process what was happening.”

“I can see why he never told me that story,” Rhodey says, tone somewhere between exasperated and fond. “I can’t believe he just showed up at your apartment.”

“Trust me, neither could I. Then he didn’t talk to me for two months.” Peter sighs. “That part sucked.”

Rhodey tips his beer bottle in a silent cheer and shrugs, as if to say, _Yeah, well, Tony_ , _what’re you going to do_?

“He was in pain,” Nebula says.

“Huh?” Rhodey and Peter ask in unison, startled.

“After what happened in Siberia.” She says _Siberia_ with the same tinge of hatred Mr. Stark always had the few times Peter heard him say the word. “And after what happened to you,” she adds, giving Rhodey a meaningful look. “He was in pain, he was recovering. He did not want the boy to see that.”

Peter stares at her. Then he looks at Rhodey, who is staring even harder, mouth open. He looks back at Nebula.

“He told you about Siberia?” he asks. Mr. Stark never told _him_ about what happened, beyond vague gestures at something bad with Captain America.

“Yeah, what the kid said.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Peter asks Rhodey, surprised.

“Of course he did. But I’m his oldest friend.”

Okay, good point. They both turn back to Nebula, confused.

“We were on a ship alone for many days. He believed he was going to die. He told me many things.”

“Oh.” Peter bites his lip, feeling a little hurt, as ridiculous as it is. “I guess I’m the only one he didn’t tell.”

They sit in silence after that, letting it sink in. Finally, Rhodey clears his throat.

“I think story time is over. Big day tomorrow. Everyone should get some sleep.”

\---

Peter clears the shake-stained cups while Rhodey and Nebula deal with the M&Ms and cards. He’s absorbed in rinsing the metal mugs—which is harder than it should be in the ship’s tiny kitchenette, sink sputtering a barely-there stream of water—when he hears the quiet whirring of metal that he’s come, over the last few hours, to associate with Nebula.

She stops at his side. “He did not tell you because he did not want you to think less of him.”

“What?”

“About Siberia,” she says, as if it should have been obvious, which it kind of was. “He did not tell you because he was ashamed. He did not want you to know.”

“He told you that? About me? Specifically?”

“You admired him. Not many people admired him. It meant very much to him.”

Peter swallows, throat suddenly tight. “Lots of people admired him.”

“Not people who mattered.” She tilts her head, looking into the sink. “Be careful.”

Peter follows her gaze and realizes he’s gripping the cup so tightly the metal is starting to warp. He places it in the sink. “Sorry. I’m just…”

He has no idea what he’s _just_. Overwhelmed.

To his surprise, Nebula places her hand on his shoulder. The metal is cold through his t-shirt. She says nothing, but when he looks at her he thinks there’s something soft around her eyes.

“Thanks,” he says. “I…thanks.”

She nods and disappears, leaving Peter with the dishes and his thoughts.

\---

The next day, they come into range of the planet where Mr. Stark is being kept. It’s small, ominously red, practically glowing against the backdrop of dark space.

“This is it,” Nebula says, unnecessarily. She’s in the pilot seat, Rhodey standing behind her, hands on the back of her chair. Peter is reclining in the co-pilot seat, not that he could actually do anything to help fly. 

“Subtle,” Rhodey says, gesturing at the planet. “They’re really leaning into the ‘evil lair’ vibe.”

“The planet teems with dark energy,” Nebula states, as if that explains it. Maybe it does, it’s not like Peter knows anything about whatever ‘dark energy’ is. “They harnessed its core to resurrect him.”

Peter looks at the planet, stomach curdling. Somewhere beneath the swirls of burning clouds is Mr. Stark, supposedly, but they have to get there first. It hadn’t seemed like a daunting idea when he snuck onto the ship, but now that he’s faced with the reality, he wishes Nebula waited for more backup. He trusted her when she said that they couldn’t spare the time; it’s only now occurring to him that she once went after Thanos on her own. She doesn’t always have the best sense of self-preservation.

Speaking of Thanos…

“If they can resurrect people, why didn’t they just resurrect Thanos?” he asks. Another thing that didn’t occur to him until now.

Rhodey looks at him, clearly impressed. “The kid has a point. Are we sure this isn’t a trap?”

“It’s not a trap. They failed to resurrect my father. Stark is their revenge.”

“Yeah, but how do you know for sure?” Rhodey pushes.

Nebula shoots him a glare over her shoulder. “I know,” she says definitively.

From the angle he’s sitting, Peter can’t quite see her face, but whatever expression she has must convince Rhodey, because he raises his hands in defeat.

“Got it,” he agrees. “How long until we land?”

“Not long,” Nebula says. “You should prepare.”

\---

As they head back to their bunks to get changed, Peter asks Rhodey what that was all about.

“We don’t want to know how she got her information, is what that was all about.” Rhodey sounds impressed. “That woman is truly terrifying.”

“She’s actually really nice once you get to know her, though,” Peter points out.

“Yeah.” Rhodey smiles, eyes crinkling. “But I wouldn’t want to be on her bad side.”

They reach Peter’s room. Rather than continuing the walk to his bunk Rhodey stops, crossing his arms and looming a little, like he did when he first found Peter in the storage closet.

“Listen, Peter, we need to talk.”

Peter’s heart rate spikes so fast he feels dizzy. Did Rhodey pick up on his feelings for Mr. Stark? Even if he did, that would be a crazy thing to talk to him about right now, right? They kind of have bigger things to worry about. But what else would he want to talk about? _Now_?

“Uh…” is all he manages.

“I told you, I’ve seen your videos.”

Oh, this is about fighting. That makes more sense. Peter relaxes, but only for long enough to realize he’s probably about to get a lecture on fighting styles from _War Machine_. “What about them?”

“You’re good, but you’re reckless.”

Peter starts to protest, but Rhodey cuts him off with a sharp hand gesture.

“No bullshit, Peter. You are, and you know it. It’s okay. You need a little reckless in this job. But if this thing goes well, I’m about to get my best friend back, and the first thing I have to tell him is he missed four years of his daughter’s life. The second thing I have to tell him is his wife has moved on. I do not want to add you being dead or seriously injured to that list, got it?”

Oh, wow. Peter hadn’t even thought about all that, though now that Rhodey points it out, it’s obvious.

“Got it,” he agrees without further protest. He’s already made things hard enough. “But, um, same?”

“Same?”

“I mean, I don’t want to have to tell him all that instead! And I definitely don’t want to have to tell him _you’re_ hurt, so…yeah. Same. Let’s both be okay, for him?”

Rhodey is silent for a long moment, and then he bursts into a laugh. He claps Peter on the shoulder.

“Okay, kid, deal. Let’s both be okay for him.”

\---

To Peter’s surprise, they are both okay. All three of them are.

In fact, for followers of Thanos, these aliens are surprisingly unprepared for a sneak attack. They go down easy as Peter, Rhodey, and Nebula make their way from hall to hall in what can only be described as a castle. A very technically advanced, evil castle.

They end in a large cavern where about ten guys in heavy armor guard a single door.

“That’s gotta be it,” Peter says, pointlessly.

“A-plus observation skills, Spider-Man,” Rhodey deadpans. “Remember what I said about not getting killed.”

“Back atcha,” Peter says, launching himself at the guards with a shout.

\---

The ten guys go down easy, too.

Well, relatively easy. It’s not a walk in the park, but it’s not exactly the scariest thing Peter’s ever experienced in space. Not even close.

“Pathetic,” Nebula snarls as she cuts down their final foe in two deadly knife strokes. She watches the body fall, impassive. “This is why my father never called them to battle.”

“You’re saying this was the minor league of Thanos’s children?” Rhodey asks, landing beside her. “That would explain why this was so easy.”

“These were not my father’s children,” Nebula snaps, and if Peter didn’t know better, he would say she’s offended. Actually, he doesn’t know better. She probably is offended. “These are minions. Bad ones.” She steps over the body and gestures at the door. “Blast it.”

\---

Peter’s feeling of triumph disintegrates as soon as they enter what can only be described as a high-tech medieval torture chamber.

Mr. Stark is alive. But he’s passed out, strung up on a wall, half naked, covered in bruises and blood, barely breathing.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

It takes everything in Peter not to vomit on the spot. Fortunately, Rhodey and Nebula manage to keep it together, getting Mr. Stark down in seconds while Peter leans against a wall, heaving and trying not to sob.

“Lead the way out, Peter,” Rhodey says once he has Mr. Stark secure in his arms. He nods at the door. “Give us a shout if those super-senses of yours pick up on anything.”

It’s a sensible plan, but Peter’s pretty sure Rhodey’s mostly trying to distract him. He’d feel patronized if he wasn’t so busy feeling grateful.

\---

They make it back to the ship without incident, and quickly get Mr. Stark set up in the ship’s med bay, which is little more than a small bed and a few shelves filled with vials of things Peter’s afraid to touch.

In fact, Peter’s pretty useless. He mostly hovers, trying to arrange Mr. Stark to be comfortable on the slim excuse for hospital bed while Rhodey checks Mr. Stark’s wounds and Nebula hooks him into some sort of fluid-giving IV situation with her regular brutal efficiency.

Which is why Peter is the one leaning over Mr. Stark when his eyes blink open.

“Kid?” he whispers, voice like sandpaper.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter practically yelps.

In an instant, Rhodey is next to Peter, and Nebula is leaning over Mr. Stark from the other side of the bed. Mr. Stark’s eyes slide slowly between them, as if he’s having a hard time registering what he’s seeing.

“Two of my favorite people,” he croaks, glancing between Peter and Rhodey. Then his gaze lands on Nebula. “And my very favorite alien. Don’t tell Thor.”

He attempts to sit up, but Nebula catches him, pressing him back onto the single pillow Peter managed to prop behind his head.

“You are so not up to moving yet,” Rhodey explains. His voice sounds weird, and when Peter glances over, he sees his eyes are sparkling. “You’re safe now. Just rest.”

Mr. Stark doesn’t try to get up again, which is a sign of how beat he must be, but his eyes keep flitting between the three of them.

“Am I dreaming?” he asks. “Am I—”

His hand flails a little, and Peter catches it instinctively. “No, Mr. Stark. You’re not dreaming. We saved you.”

Mr. Stark grips his fingers, tight, so Peter doesn’t let go.

“Killed a lot of bastards to make it happen,” Rhodey adds.

“That was nice of you.” Mr. Stark coughs. “Why does everything hurt?”

Nebula grabs a vial from one of the shelves and quickly injects it into the IV, which fills with purple liquid.

“This will help the pain,” she explains. “And with sleep.”

Mr. Stark watches as the liquid makes its way to his vein and then immediately sighs.

“Fast acting,” he observes. “Why do the aliens always have the good shit?”

Nebula rests her hand on Mr. Stark’s forearm with a gentleness Peter has never seen from her.

“I must fly the ship before what remains of Thanos’ followers find us,” she says. “I will be back to give you more of the ‘good shit’ later.”

Tony nods, eyelids sagging. “Thanks for saving me again, Blue. I owe you.”

Nebula smiles. “I have not had a hamburger in many years. You will buy me one when we return to Earth.”

“Deal.”

Mr. Stark is definitely starting to fade, voice going wobbly as he turns to Rhodey and Peter.

“You two,” he says. His lips make a shape that’s almost a grin but mostly a grimace. “A sight for sore eyes. Not to sound needy, but can one of you stay?”

“Of course!” Peter says and gets another squeeze on his fingers in return.

“We’ll both stay,” Rhodey agrees. “Go to sleep, man. You’re going to be fine.”

\---

They drag in chairs from the mess area so they can sit either side of Mr. Stark as he rests. Rhodey works on a mission report while Peter ostensibly reads his book on his phone, but mostly he just stares at Mr. Stark. They covered him in a thin blanket, which hides the worst of his injuries, but his face bears evidence of everything he’s been through. It’s there in the flaking blood, the cuts and bruises, the stubble disrupting his usually sharp beard.

What Peter wants, more than anything, is to reach out and hold Mr. Stark’s hand again, but that’s not something he’s going to do in front of Rhodey, so he contents himself with the staring.

“He’s not going to disappear into thin air if you look away for a minute.”

Peter raises his eyes to find Rhodey observing him, amused. Fuck. Caught red-handed. Red-eyed. Whatever.

“It’s just…really nice to see him alive again. Even if he is asleep. Like, really nice.”

God. Why did he add that last bit? How pathetic does he sound?

Rhodey tilts his head. He looks like he’s thinking hard about what he wants to say next, which makes Peter nervous again.

“I’m glad he has you to look out for him, too, you know,” Rhodey finally says. “Especially now. It’s not a one-man job.”

Relieved not to be called out, Peter nods vigorously. So vigorously his head starts to hurt. “Whatever he needs. I mean, I know I’m not his best friend and I don’t know him as well as you do or anything, but however I can help. Always.”

Rhodey gives him a final once over, shaking his head with a soft laugh, as if he’s in on a joke Peter doesn’t get.

“For now you can help by finishing that homework, young man,” he says in a mock stern tone, pointing at Peter’s phone. “In all seriousness, you should try to get ahead. I have a feeling Tony is going to want to take up a lot of your time once he wakes up.”

\---

Nebula comes in again later to check on Mr. Stark’s meds and join them in their vigil, allowing Rhodey to slip off and make them more terrible protein shakes. Peter is surprised he can get his down, but it turns out the strain of fighting has left him hungry despite the constant gnaw of anxiety in his stomach whenever he looks at Mr. Stark’s battered body.

He’s equally surprised when he starts to drift off, exhaustion from the day overwhelming his desire to keep staring at the person he can’t believe is back.

Also surprising: Nebula fetches him a pillow and Rhodey doesn’t protest when Peter scoots close to Mr. Stark, curling up in his chair with his pillow pressed into the side of the bed—not touching Mr. Stark, but as close as he can get.

“I cannot believe you can fall asleep like that,” is Rhodey’s only comment.

“Spider-powers,” Peter murmurs as he drifts off. “Flexibility. Lots of perks.”

“I bet,” he hears, along with an amused laugh. “You’re something else, kid.”

\---

He wakes up slowly, to the sound of gentle murmurs and the feel of something soft sending shivers down his spine.

Fingers, in his hair. That’s where the pleasure is coming from. He freezes, confused.

“I’m sorry for all the bad news,” someone whispers. Rhodey, that’s Rhodey.

“Morgan’s alive, Pep’s happy. That sounds like good news to me.” And that’s Mr. Stark, voice still strained, but sounding way more awake and aware.

“Tony, come on, it’s me.”

Peter tries to keep his breathing steady. This sounds like a serious moment, and while eavesdropping is rude, he doesn’t want to interrupt.

Mr. Stark sighs. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, it sucks. But at least I’m alive now. I get to see the rest of Morgan’s life. I can’t argue with that.” The fingers scratch at Peter’s head again. “And you brought me the kid. That’s pretty damn great.”

Oh. Those are Mr. Stark’s fingers in his hair. That makes sense. Kinda.

“Actually, I tried very hard not to bring him,” Rhodey corrects. “The kid brought himself.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.” The fingers flatten out until Mr. Stark is petting him. “He was always stubborn.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

Mr. Stark laughs. “Here I was thinking dying would get me at least one night insult-free night.”

“Who says that was an insult?” Rhodey’s voice is light with laughter. “Peter’s stubborn ass is great. I totally get what you see in him. And you’re not half-bad either.”

More laughter and a movement that might be a half-hug, though Mr. Stark’s hand never leaves Peter’s hair.

There’s a little more whispered conversation, and then Mr. Stark tries to convince Rhodey to go to bed. (“You look almost as tired as I am, Honey Buns.”) Peter takes that as his cue to start stirring.

“Mr. Stark?” he says, lifting his head.

Suddenly, he’s hit with the full force of the most blindingly perfect smile in the world. He’d forgotten how great that smile is. How it makes his insides glow. 

“Mr. Parker!” Mr. Stark sounds as delighted as Peter feels. He turns back to Rhodey. “Look, the kid’s awake. He can take care of me. You, bed.”

Peter catches Rhodey’s eyes and nods. “We have a whole nother day until we get home, sir. You really should sleep.”

“He calls you ‘sir,’ too?” Mr. Stark asks Rhodey.

“I’ve been trying to get him to stop,” Rhodey grumbles. “Fine, I’m going to sleep. Shout if you need anything.”

And then they’re alone, and Peter realizes he has no clue what he’s supposed to do. Mr. Stark stares at him expectantly.

“Hi,” Peter says stupidly. He’s suddenly very sad that sitting up means he’s lost the grounding presence of Mr. Stark’s hand in his hair.

“Hello.” Mr. Stark gives him that smile again. “It seems you won Rhodey over.”

Peter lets himself smile back. God, it’s really him. He’s really here.

“It was hard,” he admits. “He wasn’t very happy when I snuck onto this ship.”

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. “ _Snuck_ on? Again?” He shakes his head. “That’s becoming a bad habit, mister.”

“Only when it’s for you,” Peter says without thinking. _Fuck_. Idiotic non-thinking brain. Why would he say that? “Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…Sorry.”

Mr. Stark’s eyes trace over his face, running this way and that. Then he grabs Peter’s chin, tilting his head as if trying to get a better look. 

“You grew up,” he says matter-of-factly after the observation has gone on long enough that it feels awkward.

“I guess.”

Mr. Stark’s smile fades into something more melancholy as he drops his hand. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s okay.” Peter tries to make it sound as earnest as possible. “You saved the universe! That’s a good excuse. And you’re back now, which is the best thing ever, so…”

Nothing else matters. Not the pain, not the loneliness, not the nights spent sobbing over nightmares. None of it matters, because Mr. Stark is back now.

“I’m so happy,” he sums up.

“Me too.” Mr. Stark leans forward, arms extending as if he wants to pull Peter into a hug, but then he winces and falls back. “Shit. Guess that’s why Rhodey told me not to move around.”

Oh, right. Peter had almost forgotten about how injured Mr. Stark is. More stupid.

“Can I help?” he asks. “I don’t know anything about the meds or anything, but I could like…check the bandages? Or…actually, that’s kinda all I got, but I could do that.”

Mr. Stark shakes his head. “No. You know what I need? I need a distraction. Catch me up on your life, Pete. That’s what I want.”

And so Peter tells Mr. Stark about his life, about college and working with the Avengers and May and Ned and Beck and everything, until Mr. Stark starts to nod off, and Peter follows.

This time, his head ends up on Mr. Stark’s chest. Mr. Stark’s hand settles on the back of his neck, holding tight as they fall asleep.

\---

Nebula’s the one who finds them like that, for which Peter is incredibly grateful.

He’s even more grateful that she doesn’t comment, just looks them both over, notices Peter is awake, and says, “Rhodey is bringing breakfast.”

“Great!” Peter says, extracting himself from the awkward position. “I’m going to go brush my teeth and stuff and…yeah.”

He has to stop himself from skipping down the hall as he goes.

Mr. Stark is _alive_.

\---

When he gets back to the med bay, Mr. Stark is also awake. He has a small tray over his legs, and is holding a hand of cards. Nebula and Rhodey sit on either side of him, cards in their hands, too.

“I didn’t know you play,” Mr. Stark says as Peter takes his seat. “Ready to learn from the master?”

Peter doesn’t even try to hide his blush as he looks at him. “Always.”

_Coda_

Nebula decides to stay on Earth for the time being, to make sure no stragglers track Mr. Stark down to finish the revenge scheme. At least that’s her excuse, though with the amount of time she spends with Rhodey, Peter’s not convinced it’s the whole story.

Not that he can talk, really.

Poker becomes a weekly tradition. They play with real chips but fake stakes, sharing stories over beer. They start out in the rebuilt Avengers compound, then move to the penthouse apartment Mr. Stark takes up as his new home.

And if, over time, Mr. Stark starts to invite Peter to spend the night after, first because his dorm is just so far away, and eventually with no excuse at all?

Well. Peter’s not complaining.

Nebula’s only response when she realizes the pattern is an amused smile in Peter’s direction as she slips out the door at the end of the night.

Rhodey must notice, too—he’s not dumb—but he doesn’t say anything until the night, months in, when Tony throws caution to the wind, flinging his hand over the back of Peter’s chair and running his fingers through his hair as they play. Peter knows he’s beet red all evening, but if Mr. Stark doesn’t care about making it clear what’s going on between them, he doesn’t, either.

The next morning, he wakes up to a text from Rhodey:

_You need to work on your poker face. It’s atrocious._

_But I’m really, really glad he has you._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved <3


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